


The Hero's Reward

by AnyaElizabeth



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-05
Updated: 2008-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaElizabeth/pseuds/AnyaElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry is woken by something wonderful. It leads him to something even better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hero's Reward

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-spoilery warning: The content I have chosen not to warn for is mostly some scenes of Snape *ahem* appreciating Harry whilst Harry is underage. I don't want to not warn for it but I don't want people to be put off because they assume it's super-chan or explicit underage acts. I may change my mind and slap an underage warning on it, but it's a difficult one to call. I also feel I should warn for possible dubious consent, although it's not very dubious really. Not in my head, where Harry's subconscious is waving little banners saying "Shag Snape Tra La La!". See my AO3 profile page for more information regarding my (still-evolving) warning policy.
> 
> I'm in the process of uploading all the work currently posted on LJ/IJ/DW and my fic site to AO3, and this is, in some ways, my first fic. It is by no means the first fic I ever wrote, or even that I ever posted (though nothing would tempt me to post THOSE again) but it is pretty much my first posted HP fic under this name. That's a milestone, right? It was written in order to... capture the feel of some of those guilt-ridden Snapes and detention passions of yore, whilst still being DH-compliant. Well, it's EWE, but that doesn't count.

There was something beautiful in the air. Harry could hear it, taste it, _fee__l _it coursing through him, making him ache, making his heart sing. He'd been dreaming again, Nagini's head and Voldemort's laughter and Snape's horrible, empty eyes – but then he'd heard the sound, sweeping through the horror, leaving nothing but this roaring joy and heart-wrenching melancholy. His breath caught in his throat as he strained to put a finger on the source of such swelling, bursting hope, struggled to trace its elusive notes...

Harry woke, cold and bereft, and almost without thinking he rose from his bed. He knew he'd just been looking for something, something bright and fiery and oh-so familiar, and as though his feet had a will of their own he began to walk. Out of Gryffindor tower, through the portrait hole, through the hushed corridors of Hogwarts.

He had nearly made it all the way down to the ground floor when he realised he was only in pyjama bottoms. It was another moment before he realised where he was stood.  
   
Dumbledore's office.

Except it wasn't Dumbledore's office. It was Professor McGonagall's, now. Harry wondered if she had moved in properly yet; he thought she would not have the heart. Not so soon. No-one was quite ready to begin rebuilding just yet.

Harry didn't know how he'd planned to get in to the office, without a password, but the gargoyle was sleeping and the door opened to his touch. Unsettled, still seeking that familiar warmth, he stepped on the staircase and slid upwards into the office.

The portraits were snoring softly. Harry had the sudden urge to wake Dumbledore's, but something made him pause. He looked curiously at the desk and cabinet, wondering if Snape had left anything here, and what McGonagall would have done with it if he had. He'd seen her clearing out Snape's rooms yesterday; he wasn't sure why. Perhaps she'd had to – perhaps she'd just wanted to say some sort of goodbye. Harry felt a pang of regret.

Now, what was he here for? What had he dreamt of that led him so surely? Something familiar, something beautiful, something inextricably linked with Dumbledore...

The dim room flared to life, something burst before his eyes in a flurry of feathers, and a low note struck out in the air. It filled Harry's soul, strength and love and happiness, and Harry realised what he'd been dreaming of. Phoenix song.

Then the room subsided into dimness, and Harry watched as a single phoenix feather floated to the desk, along with a spiralling scrap of scorched paper. Harry, almost in a trance, reached out.

It said one word. _Beneficium._

It looked like a password, or perhaps a spell, so Harry said it aloud. For a moment the moonlit office was still, then the wall behind Dumbledore's desk quietly faded. It did so without fuss, and Harry found himself staring not at blank magnolia but a large alcove. It was packed full of strange things and boxes and books, some that Harry recognised with a start: Dumbledore's.

Then Harry saw the letters. Two of them, leaning prominently against a box, Dumbeldore's seal bright upon them. Harry reached out and turned them over – his stomach lurched.

One had _Harry_ written on it in looping script. The other read _Severus.  
_  
Harry swallowed and opened his letter from Dumbledore._  
_  
_My dearest Harry, _it began.

_Fawkes has strict instructions only to reveal this letter to you when all is won and you are well, so I can only congratulate you on your success. I'm so very proud of you, Harry. Your bravery, strength and good heart far surpasses mine, and I only hope I did not disappoint you too much before the end._

But you are, of course, wondering why you are here. The reason, dear boy, is your inheritance. It is all in this room, to be shared fairly with Severus, providing he has received the just reward for his efforts and come out the other side of this war. If he has not (and he thinks it highly likely, I know), then it is all yours. Feel free to sell the things that interest you little.

_I expect you're a little surprised. Did you think that the stone was all I had for you, out of all my worldly possessions? It was certainly not – it was merely what you would need before the war's end, a bittersweet gift by all accounts. __No, no, I had far more for you, but far too many items would have never left the Ministry, and we couldn't have that. So I made a few arrangements for a slight delay in your inheritance, and I pray you'll forgive me. I hope you find something of merit in here._

So all that remains is to wish you the very best for the future. You have suffered far too much, my dear dear boys, and hopefully this meagre offering will help you both on your way to the life you both deserve. I hope you will forgive me for the things I have taken it upon myself to manipulate; be assured, I was trying to do what I thought best, and none of it changes the fact that I consider you as dear to me as any son could be.

__My fondest regards,__

Albus Dumbledore

PS. Do try not to fight with Severus too much. Perhaps this shared task will finally reconcile you a little.

Harry's eyes stung. Albus had left him all of this? It was not a large room, it was true, but the exotic instruments and ancient books – they had to be worth an awful lot. He'd really thought of Harry as a son?

The postscript burned into his brain, cut through his happiness. He'd learnt so much about Snape that he finally thought he might have been able to let go a little, stop the mindless burning hate and replace it with something more sympathetic, something Lupin would have been proud of. But it was far too late. Snape was gone forever, and even the thought that they would never argue again left him strangely sad._  
_  
Harry looked at Snape's letter. He wondered if he should read it – but it was not as if Snape would read it himself. Feeling vaguely wrong, Harry opened the letter and began to read.

_My dearest Severus, _it began, and Harry resented the similarity to his own letter.  
_  
_Words cannot describe my delight that you are reading this letter, because it means that you've lived to tell your tale. Hopefully that is the end of it, although if the Ministry give you trouble do feel free to show them this letter, confirming unequivocally that you were on the side of light, working for me, and that you assisted in my death on my strictest and cruellest orders, as any alternative was out of the question.__

You may have deduced what this is – it is your inheritance, to be shared with Harry in whatever way you both see fit. I daresay Harry will be happy to let you have most of my large Dark Arts library, not to mention most of the more obscure magical objects in here. Do try to share amicably. If Harry has not survived to this point, consider it all yours. Don't even think about using that as an excuse to bump him off, Severus.  
  
Harry smiled. Snape would never have brought himself to hurt him – he was sure of that now.__

_Have fun with your gifts – hopefully they will be a step on the way to giving you the life you deserve. Go out and discover and create. Be brilliant, as I know you are. Most of all, forgive yourself – even if you cannot forgive me, I must beg you this. Have the best of lives, Severus, and know I love you very much._

Forever yours,

Albus.  
  
Harry felt his eyes prickling. He was starting to see Snape a little through Dumbledore's eyes – a brilliant man, a persecuted boy, whose talents were squandered and whose life he'd used just as much as Harry's to win this war. A man he'd seen fit to love. Harry wondered whether Snape loved him back – whether it had been harder for him than Harry could imagine, up on the tower that night.

He looked at the postscript. _PS. You left something important in my care. Now it is not under threat from certain students with a propensity to dive into pensieves, I really think you should have it back. It's in the mahogany box on top of the phonic transcope. Take care, Severus, and dare to hope a little.  
_  
Harry frowned. He wondered what was so important, and what had to be kept from Harry – more memories? Other things he might have seen, had he not got caught? Harry knew he should leave it, but he itched to know what Snape wanted hidden the most, so hidden that Snape would not leave it lying around even in a guarded pensieve.

Harry had no idea what a phonic transcope was, but he eventually spotted a mahogany box perched on top of something that looked like a telescope and a gramophone caught mid-fight. Fingers tingling with forbidden excitement, Harry reached for the box. It was plain and about the size of a wand case, only a little shorter. There was a gold catch that flicked up when he pushed.

Inside there was a green velvet cloth. Harry lifted it, and found what he was seeking; a tiny silver vial, filled with swirling, opalescent thoughts.

Harry swallowed, and summoned the pensieve to his side. He set it down, still whirling with Snape's memories of his mother, on the nearest box. A moment's hesitation, then the other memories joined them.

A longer pause, while Harry set down the vial in the box and stared into the liquid. Should he do this? These were thoughts Snape had gone to great effort to keep from him, _specifically_ him. But they could be anything, couldn't they? He could stand it if they were more punishments his father had inflicted, or scenes of torture and murder in the Death Eaters, and it could well be something mundane, like Snape's sex life – assuming he'd ever had one. There could be more memories of his mother...

It didn't make him a wonderful person, thought Harry, but it was hardly going to do any harm to look.

He looked down to see the surface of the memories clear. To Harry's surprise, it showed himself and Snape, stood face to face in a potions classroom with snarling faces. He touched the surface, decided now since it concerned him, and the world spun away as the potions dungeon rose to meet him.

Harry recognised the fight – detention, fourth year, and Snape had pushed him too far as usual and made him yell. Harry had snapped, and it all progressed quite as Harry remembered it; his younger self shouting, Snape snarling insults into Harry's face, the two of them getting frighteningly close as neither one backed down...

Then Snape had sent him away, and Harry had slammed the door. Very standard, nothing Harry had not seen.

The second Harry shut the door, Snape slumped against his desk and put his head in his hands. Harry watched curiously from his perspective by the door – was Snape regretting his insults? Surely not. Snape raised his head again; he looked flushed and angry and strangely dazed, and he stared at the slammed door with unseeing eyes. Harry was confused – what was so secret about this memory?

Something about the look in Snape's eyes sent a shiver of _awareness_ down his spine. It crept on him, the feeling that he knew _exactly_ why he should not see that memory, but the potions classroom dissolved and Harry's uneasy feeling disappeared. Harry took a second to adapt to this new memory – it felt different, and Harry realised he _was _Snape, outside, staring transfixed as a tiny speck flew high above. Then Harry saw the dragon, and recognised the memory again – he grinned as he watched himself swoop and dodge.

Then he realised that if he concentrated, he felt how Snape felt. He felt his hands clenched, the tightness in his throat, the rising sense of alarm and horror and _awe_, and as Harry swooped down to get the egg, whole body straining into the move, he felt triumph... accompanied by a distinctive, hot feeling, as the blood in Snape's body seemed to rush to one specific, hardening body part.

Harry pulled himself out of that memory, feeling sick. No, no, no. He hadn't felt that. He'd got it wrong.

The awareness crept back as the scene changed to another argument, Occlumency–based this time, and Harry recognised it as that one horrifying time Snape had dragged up what felt like every wanking memory he'd had. Horror gripped him, bile rising in his throat as he watched the scene unfold.

"You don't have the RIGHT!" Other-Harry screamed.

"I have every right," said Snape silkily, and Harry wondered why Other-Harry hadn't noticed the flush high on Snape's cheeks. Why he wasn't running in disgust. It seemed so horribly, horribly obvious now.

"If you remember," Snape continued. "I have Dumbledore's permission. And since no other memory seems to give you sufficient _motivation_ to even try, I had no choice but to delve into your more... _private _memories." Snape sneered, and Harry recalled how dirty he'd felt. _He's_ _the dirty one__!_ He wanted to yell, but he still did not believe his eyes – he must have made a mistake. He _must_ be reading this very, very wrong.

"I assure you, I'd really rather not," he said, and the disgust on his face seemed so genuine Harry felt a second's relief.

"You're a pervert," said younger Harry defiantly, and Snape exploded.

"HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH THINGS TO ME!" Snape shouted. "You filthy boy, what would ever make you imagine that I _want_ to see your dirty habits? You're disgusting, Potter."

He was doing the thing he always did, shouting right up close to Harry's face, and Harry was appalled to see himself stand his ground, tilt his chin.

"You bastard, if I'm filthy so are you, I've been in your head too, remember?"

Snape gripped Other–Harry's arm, shook him, face still too close. A silent moment, their eyes locked, then as if burned Snape threw Harry away.

"Get out of here," he snarled, looking ashen, and Harry did not blame himself for running. He watched in horror as Snape sat down slowly, eyes glazed with what looked like horror. Then his mouth twisted as though he wanted to be sick, and Harry realised that Snape was as horrified at his reaction to Harry as Harry was.

Harry had had enough of this. He tried to make himself stop, tried to pull out of the memory, but it faded into another, and another, flickers of moments swimming past him – Snape, watching his hands in Potions – watching Harry in the great hall, laughing brightly – a blurry fantasy of a harsh kiss – Harry at Grimmauld Place, sullen and pouting, lower lip full and damp – his arse in the corridor, Snape watching his back as he walked, Snape's eyes following him everywhere – Snape unfolding the newspaper and seeing an older Harry, Snape's sharp intake of breath as Harry smiled – Snape naked in bed, all long lines and sweat–drenched skin, hand wrapped around his cock and his face turned to his pillow as though he could not bear the shame – then Dumbledore's office again, and the scene resolved itself properly this time, walls becoming solid and Dumbledore twinkling merrily. Snape sat opposite him, familiar and forbidding, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Severus," said Dumbledore, and he sounded sad. "I have been thinking about your Patronus."

What looked like horror flashed over Snape's face.

"What do you mean, Albus?"

"Well. It occurred to me, dear boy, that perhaps its persistence in the face of so many animals that could demonstrate your soul is not due entirely to Lily."

"What do you mean?" said Snape sharply. "Surely you cannot doubt I love her?"

"No, Severus, no one could doubt that. But I was more concerned about the nature of that love."

"What are you asking? If I fancied her? You know –"

"I do know, Severus. I rather meant, the nature of that love _now._ She's a treasured memory to you, I know. But hasn't she long since ceased to be the reason why you work for me? I know you know how to hold on to a passion, Severus, but can she truly be the centre of your world? Is she really why you fight Voldemort now?"

"Of course she's the reason," Snape snapped, and Dumbledore sighed.

"So if the Dark Lord could restore her, you would return to his side as loyal as ever?" Dumbledore asked. "Answer freely, Severus, I'm quite safe in the knowledge he can't offer you that particular temptation."

Snape hesitated.

"No. I would never return to him," said Snape. "Not now. I see him for the beast he is, and I for the monster I was. I... couldn't."

Albus smiled softly.

"Quite. I'm proud of you, Severus. You have come such a long way. But what of Harry Potter?"

"What of him," Snape snarled, and the hatred was as thick as if he would never dream of... as if he did not...

Harry couldn't think it.

"Did you know his Patronus is a stag?"

Snape snorted.

"You have very complimentary Patronuses, in fact," observed Dumbledore casually. "They are curious things. They can tell you so much about a person. Harry's, I believe, follows both his love for his parents and his inherent nobility. Yours, Severus, the entire time I've known you, has always followed your heart."

Snape looked far more outraged than he should have been.

"Are you implying – my God, Albus, I hate the brat – he's a child, and a dim-witted, selfrighteous, arrogant one at that –"

"Now Severus," said Dumbledore, quelling. "You may try to tell yourself that – and him, I daresay. But you know, deep in your heart of hearts, you do not believe it. I have _seen_ you, Severus. You watch him in the corridors, in the Great Hall. You prowl about at night in the off-chance you will catch an invisible troublemaker, you throw fits when I allow him to 'get away' with putting himself in danger, and you are constantly on your guard around him, waiting to defend him. Are you telling me that in all this time, all you have seen in those times is a carbon copy of his father? An irritating presence with no redeeming features and no similarity to yourself? You may be a superb Occlumens, Severus, but Harry has always been a weak spot for you, and at the moment I can see right through you clear as glass."

Snape looked stricken. He did not even try to compose himself.

"I don't –" he began, and his voice cracked. "I'd never –"

"Please, Severus, don't deny it," said Dumbledore. "I am glad he has taken a slice of your heart. You cannot lock it up forever, and I see no harm in it if you've no... inappropriate plans."

"Dear God, no."

"Of course not," said Dumbledore. "And you must cease to punish yourself about it, just because you have the brain to notice that Harry is not the boy you thought he would be. Harry is an admirable child, and very beautiful. Your lives have been uncomfortably intertwined for a very long time. He is powerful and brave and intelligent and passionate, much like you, dear boy, and he _will_ save the world one day. It is perfectly understandable you should... fixate. I trust this isn't a habit with your students, of course."

"Merlin! No. I can say that with absolute confidence. I may be sick," said Snape. His expression was ugly with self-loathing.

"Good good. Now calm yourself, and cease that self–torture you do so very well. You have not done and are not going to do anything wrong."

Here Dumbledore paused. Snape's breath seemed to catch.

"_Except_ for punishing Harry for your feelings," he said, and Snape exhaled. "He does not deserve it and it will not be good for anyone in the long term. Continuing this malicious hatred is not wise. He will respond very well, I'm sure, if only you were a little more civil."

"_No_," said Snape. "I need to hate him. I need him to hate me. It is important to the mission, if the Dark Lord saw..." A pause. "And I would go mad."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, and Harry realised he'd seen enough. He'd seen far, far too much.

He pulled himself out of the pensieve, tumbled backwards, and stayed where he fell. He was shivering all over, and every moment he'd ever had with Snape seemed to transform itself in his head. It was disgusting – he felt dirty – but Snape had felt more so, that much had been clear – and Dumbledore had called Harry beautiful. Had _Snape_ thought Harry beautiful?

Harry thought back to the intensity with which Snape had watched him. The way he'd stared at Harry far too long, the way he'd lean in too close and then push Harry away, how he'd done so many little things to save Harry's skin. Harry shivered; all those years, Harry had wildly misinterpreted...

But then, he thought, he would have never imagined this.

Harry stood, nausea calming. So Snape had – wanted him. What did it matter, anyway? It was not like he'd ever acted on it, he'd hated himself for it; would he have, when Harry was older, perhaps if Harry had visited the school again? In the quiet of the staff room, perhaps, would he have raised Harry's face from his newspaper and kissed him?

Harry didn't have a name for the type of shiver that ran through him. No, Snape would never do that. His pride would never drop like that. He'd never allow himself to truly like the boy he was supposed to hate. Even if he already did.

Snape _fancied_ him. Harry didn't like the feeling of warmth blooming in his chest. But it was understandable, right? Snape – cold, hateful Snape – wanted _him_. Hated it, and warred against it, but still desired him. He didn't think anyone had ever felt that way about him – even Ginny, who he was beginning to fear still loved the boy she dreamt him to be. It was okay to feel good about it, right? It was... flattering.

Harry almost laughed. Flattering wasn't the word. It was _overwhelming._ Snape must have been ill in the head.

A noise, barely imperceptible, snapped Harry out of his reverie. A soft grinding hiss, and Harry's wand was out and pointing at the door almost before he recognised the noise as the stairs moving. Harry had a sudden vision of how odd he must look, flustered and semi–dressed and guarding a treasure trove of magical objects, and Harry hoped he'd not woken McGonagall.

But McGonagall it was not – the door opened, and the light seemed to bend around the shape of a man; then the shape froze, fading into invisibility, and Harry took a breath in.

"_Finite __incantatum_," he said calmly, and the disillusionment charm melted away.

Severus Snape was stood in Dumbledore's office.

Harry could not help himself; he took several steps back until he crashed into a wall of boxes. He stared, pressing backwards, as far away from the apparition as he could get.

"_Potter_," Snape snarled, shock and hatred, and Harry held his wand more tightly.

"You're... how can you be...?"

Snape paused, regaining his balance, analysing the situation. Harry took a breath in.

"Fawkes," snapped Snape eventually. "I thought he had left, but he appears to be loyal to Dumbledore still. He was there that night after you left to heal me. And tonight he led me here."

Fawkes had cried for him, thought Harry, staring at Snape's unmarked neck. Surely that couldn't be enough?

"But – you were dead," said Harry. "Surely Fawkes couldn't..."

"There was life enough left in me, if my wounds were healed and my energy    replenished. Not a task beyond a phoenix, and I had plenty of restorative draughts for afterward. You could have done it yourself, Potter, if you'd had the sense to search me for healing potions."

Harry stared. He had a sudden vision of scrabbling in the man's robes, warring with what he'd seen in the pensieve of Snape, stretched out and naked – he shook himself to clear his head.

"You were dying in front of me," he said eventually, very quietly. "I wasn't thinking."

Harry lowered his wand. Snape sneered and looked away, turning his attention to the piles of bric-a-brac before him.

"This is Dumbledore's," he said blankly.

"It's our inheritance," said Harry. "There are letters. I read yours."

Snape strode over to the box where Harry had discarded the letter and picked it up, holding it possessively close. Harry watched him read it, watched his eyes darken and shutter. He finished, swallowed and put the letter down. He looked over the room; looking for the box, Harry realised, and he stayed pressed to the wall as Snape noticed the pensieve.

A second of pure horror flashed in Snape's eyes.

"What's that doing out?" said Snape, voice cold and measured and afraid.

"It's got your memories in it," said Harry, closing his eyes. "You should take them back."

When he opened them, Snape was moving towards the pensieve with an expression of growing suspicion. Harry fancied he could see the fear in his eyes. There was so much whirling in Harry's head, fear and disgust and embarrassment, but for the moment, he felt pity. Snape would – well, he'd hate that Harry knew. And Harry almost hated knowing too, preferred it when his world had made sense in a much simpler, black and white way, where Snape didn't – desire him, and show it with his loathing.

Snape put his wand to the mixture and stirred it, pulling up strands of memory and wrapping them like candyfloss. They floated, gossamer–fine, around the tip of his wand, drawing others in until the pensieve was empty. Then he closed his eyes and put the strands to his head, and when he opened them again he looked straight at Harry.

"Did you look before I came?" he said, low and dangerous, and Harry couldn't answer. "Dammit, boy, did you see?"

Harry shook his head, but it was not so much denial as fear. He kept shaking it as Snape took a step towards him, catching Harry's arm and shaking him, eyes wild.

"Don't play games with me, Potter! DID YOU SEE?"

Harry looked at Snape's hand, tight and hot around his arm, then at Snape, whose body curved to him and who'd lowered his face, as he always did, to shout into Harry's. Harry could not lie, could not hold in his terrified expression, and Snape saw. He went rigid with horror.

"Tell me you didn't," murmured Snape, eyes closed as though praying for forgiveness.

"I saw it," said Harry, and now he couldn't pretend... he _had _seen it. Snape _wanted _him.

Or maybe he no longer did. Maybe it was just one of those strange inappropriate crushes that eventually wore off. Maybe it had never been a big deal, but Snape had freaked out and made it one. Maybe...

Snape's eyes were roving his face, openly searching for an indication of what Harry would do now. Harry couldn't have told him if he tried.

"They –" he began. "The memories. You... fancied me." Snape's face shuttered. "Is that what I saw? Because I – I really would like to be wrong."

Snape drew away.

"Don't make me say it, Potter," he said, and closed his eyes. Harry swallowed.

"But – you hate me. Surely you don't still – God, no, you couldn't, I mean, maybe it was Occlumency's fault, it's kind of – intimate." Harry swallowed again, but the panic did not budge. "I mean, I learnt a lot about you, and you know more about me than anyone –"

But Harry knew this explanation did not wash. He'd seen Snape in _fourth_ year, God, he'd been so _young, _and Snape had always been staring at him those days. Snape was not looking at him now – he still had his eyes tight shut, and he did not look as though he were about to respond.

Harry realised he was still pressed against the boxes behind him, as though Snape were about to jump him. Absurd. Even if this was not some horrible misunderstanding, Snape would never. His pride would not let him. Even though he'd thought about it... imagined a fight-turned-kiss in a quiet classroom, imagined Harry kissing back...

Deep within him, a dark, hot spark flared. Harry tensed against his body's betrayal.  
                                                                 
He no longer wanted to talk about it.

"Where have you _been?_" he asked. Snape looked at him, confused at the change of tack.

"The Forbidden Forest," he said, wary. "There's an abandoned hut."

"Why didn't you come up to the castle? Or at least sent a _note_! People have been grieving for you!"

"I had no way of knowing whether you believed me, or whether you considered me innocent enough to not throw me in Azkaban. And even if I had known, I'm no fool. The world will not accept me simply because Harry Potter says so."

"No," said Harry, disturbance vanishing under his anger. "They'll accept you because it's _right!_ You helped save them from a world of misery and pain and death. You've done terrible things because you've had to and you killed someone you loved because you _had_ to and you may be cruel and petty and snide and dramatic but you're _good._ They are giving you an Order of Merlin, you know. Posthumously. People _know_ you died to save them."

"Ah," said Snape, fear vanishing under his sneer, "And there's the problem, isn't it? I didn't die. It's all very well celebrating a man of questionable morality if he is dead – he's not going to embarrass you with his undeserving behaviour, is he? But if they realise I am alive they will need to be sure I am a good person before they celebrate my achievements. And unfortunately, Potter, I'm not. Perhaps on their side, but certainly not _good_. And I never will be."

"So you're just going to hide," said Harry flatly.

"No. First I will run."

Harry felt his fury swell.

"That's pathetic!" he shouted. "You'd rather flee everything you know than take a stand? Than to risk having to drop your act a little bit? Don't tell me the world won't understand, because you have no idea, and you're too afraid to find out!"

"So what if I am?" snarled Snape. "It's not fear, you idiot boy, it's common sense! When has the world ever shown any indication of accepting me? You would not know of it, Potter, you are beautiful and bright and the world welcomes you with open arms. But I have always been ugly and feared, and for good reason. I tortured their children, Potter. Your _friends_. Do you really think they will forgive me for that?"

Harry's breath had caught at the word beautiful. Now he exhaled in a rush.

"Of course no one accepts you," he snapped. "You've never let anyone in. I'm not saying it's your fault, you never knew how to be any different and kids can be really cruel and I _do_ know what it means to be rejected. The Dursleys did it every second of my life and you did it the second you met me and I didn't even know why. But I didn't seal myself off. I didn't lash out. You can't try your hardest to make people hate you and then complain when that's exactly what they do!"

"I am not _complaining_," said Snape coldly. "I'm not some angst-ridden teen. I am simply telling you why I have no intention of coming back."

"You're an idiot," snarled Harry. "I don't want you to just go. Not when I _know _people will understand. Not when I know you'll have people at your back, people who would give anything to see you recognised. So you've done terrible things. So you've tortured and probably killed and I expect you enjoyed some of it, too – I'm not a stranger to the notion. But it was for _us_. For this. Freedom from fear and misery and an evil regime. People will get it, because they have to. Maybe some will always hate you, but there's plenty of people who hate me too and there's really nothing you can do about it. So you were the most evil headmaster in the history of Hogwarts – but if it had been the Carrows, it would have been a bloodbath."

"Worse," said Snape, looking ill. He stared at the floor. "I could not do as much as I'd hoped. There were only so many times I could demand to exact my own justice before they wished to join in the fun. There will be many who will never recover from what they did."

Harry swallowed.

"Not your fault," he whispered.

"That won't matter to them."

"If that's true, they'll blame me too. For not killing him sooner. For not being a good enough hero. For just being a normal bloody boy, unexceptional and just a tiny bit screwed up."

Snape snorted.

"I daresay some will," he said. "But you are not entirely unexceptional."

Harry looked up at him. His throat was tight.

"I know you don't think so," he said. He knew he should be horrified, but at the moment, he was grateful.

Snape dropped his eyes. Harry sighed.

"I –" he began, then stopped. "I'm sorry I looked," he said. "I didn't exactly expect to see you again. But I'm..." Harry wanted to say he wasn't angry, that it was okay, but it would be arrogant to presume Snape cared either way. He stopped.

"Shut up, Potter," he said, with a venom Harry had known for a long time meant Snape was hurting. "Save it all for the morning, when you can all laugh over your perverted Professor, mooning over a brat."

"Laugh?" said Harry, and did so, mirthlessly. "You must be joking. And you, mooning? Yeah, right. I think the word is more like abusing. You may have – have liked me, but it didn't really stop you hating me, did it?"

Snape's lip curled.

"True enough," he growled. They stared at each other, part hate and part anger and part horrible, shared knowledge. Harry looked away first.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, you know," he said. "I never when I looked before and I'm not going to now. It's not anyone's business. It wasn't really mine, either, although I think I kind of have a right to know. We can never talk about it again, if you like."

Snape snorted.

"Have the whole bloody lot," he said suddenly, and Harry blinked. "I'm dead anyway. It's all yours. Goodnight."

And Snape moved to go. Harry leapt forward and caught his arm to stop him turning. Snape snarled and attempted to pull away. He just yanked Harry forward until Harry crashed against him.

"You're _not_ running away," said Harry, both hands clamping around Snape's arm, leaning hard against Snape. Snape stared down at Harry, and it was as though he'd sent sparks through Harry's veins; suddenly he was painfully aware of how close they were, the racing of Snape's heart, the way Snape's eyes burned with hunger and horror as they drifted to Harry's lips. Harry knew, in that moment, that Snape would kiss him, and the thought sent a horrifying shiver of _pleasure_

His eyes fluttered shut. He couldn't quite decide if it was horror or pleasure that heavied them.

"Potter, let me go," Snape whispered. Tight, forced. Almost begging.

"Why should I?" challenged Harry, looking up, tilting his chin. Snape looked fiery, furious – then Harry was being shoved against the wall, and Snape's whole body held him down as hard, angry lips descended upon his own. Harry gasped, and Snape thrust his tongue into the sound, devouring Harry's mouth with violent imprecision. Harry tried to struggle, tried to moan, but Snape pressed his hips to Harry's and _ground,_ and Harry felt his whole body explode with feeling. Snape's hands held Harry's wrists, and there was hot hardness crushing into his own, and it was the single most thrilling thing he had ever felt.

Then Snape threw himself away.

"That's why," he snarled, and it took Harry a moment to figure out what he meant.

"I'm afraid I don't follow your reasoning," said Harry breathlessly, laughing.

"Don't think you can tease me, Potter," growled Snape, digging his fingers into Harry's shoulders, shaking him. "You should let me leave, and stop trying to exercise this hold you think you have over me, because you're nothing but a boy and I promise I won't stop next time."

Harry closed his eyes. A shudder racked through him, and God how he wished it were disgust, but it wasn't. God, did Snape think he was _teasing_ him? Harry wouldn't have a clue where to start. Couldn't Snape see what he'd done to Harry? He was only in pyjama bottoms. The evidence that Harry was just as sick as Snape strained forward, towards Snape's warmth. Hadn't he _felt _it_?_

As if sensing Harry's thoughts, Snape's eyes travelled over the length of him, taking in his dazed eyes and bruised mouth, his bare, flushed chest; then Harry could see Snape's breath hitch as he saw the undeniable tent in Harry's bottoms.

Harry swallowed and turned his face away. Snape's hands loosened on his shoulders. Oh God, Snape was going to leave, and Harry was going to have to think about what all this meant – Harry wasn't ready for that, not yet, not yet.

He opened his eyes, stared at Snape, begging.

"Don't go," he whispered, and Snape's eyes widened.

"Damn you, Potter, for doing this to me," he growled, and held Harry's face as he swept down for a kiss. It was possessive, devouring – Harry whimpered in the back of his throat and Snape groaned. He pressed his hips to Harry's, and Harry's hands scrabbled to hold them there, bring them closer, fingers tightening in the fabric of Snape's robes. Snape's hand slid to his neck, across his shoulders, running his fingertips over the marks he'd left. Not moving his mouth or his hips away for a moment, he ran hot hands frantically over Harry's chest, sending shivers straight to Harry's cock, and when a nail caught Harry's nipple he jerked. Then Snape was pulling back a little, regaining control, and Harry had a moment's trepidation before a thumb stroked lightly over the nipple again and a palm slid hot along his stomach and down to the waistband of his bottoms. Harry's breath caught, and Snape pulled away; Harry opened his eyes, bereft, only to be caught by the utter _hunger_ in Snape's eyes. Then a hand slid down and clasped his cock, and Harry's head hit the wall as he moaned. Snape was firm, strong, demanding; so unlike Ginny's soft, hesitant touches or his own hand, and it seemed he knew exactly what to do to make Harry buck.

"Fuck, please," he begged, for what he did not know, and Snape slid his hand away. Harry whimpered, tried to catch his wrist, but Snape pulled away, tugging Harry with him until he had his back pressed against McGonagall's desk and his mouth plundered. Snape ground his hips, deliberate and desperate, and Harry whimpered again – he tried to get his hands into Snape's robes, but Snape drew his hands away and pressed them above his head. Harry growled in his throat, struggled a little, then thought _divestio _with as much will and concentration as he could manage.

Snape's clothes vanished, Harry felt the flush of triumph, and Snape broke away from him in shock. Harry took in the lean body – too thin, yellow–pale, criss–crossed with silver scars. But he had broad shoulders and narrow hips, and a long cock straining to meet Harry's, and Harry's mouth watered.

"How dare you," snarled Snape.

"I was evening the board," said Harry, and pushed his hips up to meet Snape's. Snape's eyes fluttered closed.

"You'll pay, Potter," snarled Snape.

"Going to give me detention?" laughed Harry.

"No, Potter, I'm going to fuck your mouth," said Snape, and it was Harry's turn to close his eyes and whimper. Snape pulled him off the desk and onto the floor, onto his knees, and when Harry found himself facing Snape's cock he felt his first moment of panic. He looked up at Snape, alarmed, and he smirked.

"Afraid, Potter?"

"Bastard," said Harry, and stuck his tongue out to taste the tip. He wrapped a hand around Snape and pumped, tentatively; when Snape bucked into him Harry felt a little braver, and swirled his tongue over the head. Snape hissed; Harry marvelled at his own bravery, and wrapped his lips over the top. He had no idea how to do this, aside from his own brief experience receiving and the advice in Hermione's magazines. But it wasn't hard to try, and Snape's moan was reward enough. He moved his mouth in earnest, taking as much as he could, compensating for how little it was by using his tongue, trying to imagine what it felt like and groaning with Snape at the thought. Snape's hands tangled tight in his hair, and Harry hated the thrill it gave him, like he hated the thrill of Snape's moans or his twitching hips, like he hated the thrill of the pulse beneath his tongue and the musky scent of Snape and how much it aroused him to be doing this.

Harry began to pump with his hand, the other on Snape's hip for balance, and Harry could feel the upswing in Snape's arousal. His hips twitched restlessly, half–choking Harry, until with a growl he yanked Harry back up into a kiss. He banished Harry's pyjamas, as wordlessly as Harry, then pressed Harry back against the desk and aligned their bodies. Harry whimpered into the kiss as Snape ground, desperately, and Harry was sure he was going to come; he realised, as Snape's breath became harsh and the kiss nothing more than a sloppy press of desperate mouths, that Snape would too. It was this thought, the thought of Snape coming against him, that tipped him over the edge – he thrust upwards, desperate for friction, and threw his head back as pleasure flooded, spasmed through him. Snape bit into his neck and thrust his hips wildly, then went utterly rigid. A second flush of wet warmth hit Harry's stomach.

Snape stayed on top of him for a long while, breathing hard. He suspected Snape did not want to move, to acknowledge the situation; he knew the feeling.

He expected it was worse for Snape. He'd started all this under the pretence of some kind of punishment for Harry – he'd ended it purely for his own desire. There was no hiding it any longer.

Snape rose. He was naked, and sticky with come; still, his face was closed and his glare forbidding. The beginnings of a sneer curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, don't," snapped Harry, flushing. "You still have the upper hand, if that's what you're worried about."

Snape blinked, and the sneer turned into a grimace.

"It's what I should have been worried about from the start," he said. He looked away at the portraits, at the sleeping Dumbledore, and looked gripped with guilt.

Harry rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. His stomach felt unpleasantly sticky, and he was splayed stark naked in front of Snape. It took all his determination to ignore it.

"You make no bloody sense," he said. "Who do you hate more, me or yourself? Considering the circumstances, you don't have much of a reason to do either."

Snape snorted.

"Potter, I just –"

"_We_ just. You know, you and me. I didn't have to," he said. He blushed at the truth of this, and looked away.

"Where are my clothes?" said Snape. Harry shrugged.

"I wasn't thinking about where they'd go. Just that they'd come off."

"You idiot," growled Snape, and a chair exploded in fluff as Snape transfigured Minerva's upholstery into a robe shape. It was still chintz; Harry was strangely satisfied that Snape was as bad at transfiguration as he.

Snape growled in frustration, shot another spell at it which turned it into grey chintz, and spelled himself clean. He did the same to Harry and pulled his makeshift robe on. Harry pulled on his pyjamas.

They looked at each other. Snape turned away first.

Harry made a decision. Nothing had changed, and everything; he wasn't going to dwell on what it meant. He'd only ever had one talent – just _doing. _So he would.

"This is awkward, isn't it?" he said brightly, and Snape glared. "Are you going to try and run away again?"

"I rather think you've run out of ways to stop me," said Snape wryly, and Harry grinned.

"For the moment," he agreed, and Snape's eyes darkened.

Then he scowled at his attire.

"I wonder if Minerva has incinerated my belongings," he mused.

"I think she cleared them out yesterday," said Harry. "I can show you, if you like."

"Do you have your cloak?" said Snape. Harry shook his head.

"I came without thinking about it," said Harry, then smirked at the double meaning. "Besides, I can wander round after curfew as much as I like now."

"Idiot boy. You'll catch your death," he said. "You should go back to the tower and get into bed."

"Yes, mother," said Harry, not resentfully, and Snape glared.

Harry stood up. He wobbled slightly, and Snape caught his arm.

"Thanks," he murmured, wishing he could lean into that warm frame. Snape looked down at him, and Harry threw caution to the wind.

"You're right, it is cold," said Harry into Snape's chest, as the man stiffened beneath him. Then, to Harry's astonishment, Snape brought one arm up around Harry's shoulders.

Harry snuggled. He thought he'd never tire of being held; he'd had so little contact as a child, and Hermione's hugs were tempered by her own embarrassment, and Mrs Weasley's by the assumption that Harry would be embarrassed. Ginny was always far too active to stay in his arms for long, and even then it felt like he was protecting her, not the other way around.

God, Ginny. It worried him how little guilt he felt over her. But this was _Snape. _He'd been a perpetual part of Harry's life, he'd kept more of Harry's secrets, for far longer than she. This just seemed to... eclipse her entirely in its import.

"Do you intend to stay attached to me all night, Potter?" said Snape, and his irritation was tempered by a rare note of uncertainty.

Harry sighed, but didn't move, as Snape had not lowered his arm.

"No. But it's tempting."

Snape snorted. He rested his chin on Harry's head.

"So short," he muttered. Then: "I don't suppose you recall that you hate me?"

"I haven't since you died, and even before then I never really wanted to," said Harry. "Except when I was looking for someone to blame for – for things. You just made it bloody hard to make right. Every time I thought I had you figured I saw something new."

"But now you've had sex with me all is forgiven?" said Snape dryly.

"Pretty much," said Harry, laughing. "And I know what you're trying to do. It would be more compelling if you weren't digging your fingers into my shoulder."

Snape dropped his arm immediately. Harry sighed, kissed Snape's chest through the fabric, and drew away.

"Come on," said Harry, and led Snape out the door. He hoped he could remember the way.

Harry had not noticed on the way there, but the floor was icy under his bare feet. The air was chill, too, and Harry shivered. He glanced up at Snape, padding silently by his shoulder, and bumped his shoulder against him semi-accidentally.

"You can fly," said Harry suddenly. Snape snorted.

"Indeed," he agreed.

"I didn't think it was possible," said Harry.

"Those who believe that have no imagination," said Snape.

"Do you know anyone else who can fly?"

"Not in the way I do," said Snape, smirking.

"So how do you do it?"

Snape huffed. Harry brushed against his shoulder again.

"As if I would tell you," he said.

"I won't tell anyone," he said. "Please?"

"It's a parlour trick, Potter. The reality of it is quite mundane. Figure out a way to do it yourself or just accept it."

With that, Snape rose an inch off the ground and began to glide. Harry scowled.

"Show–off," he muttered, and Snape smirked. "Didn't put you down as a cheap tricks kind of person."

Snape, still hovering, raised an eyebrow.

"Really. I must be more subtle than I thought. Ah, no, wait. I forgot to whom I am speaking to."

Harry thumped his arm. He had to reach annoyingly high.

"Wish I could do that," said Harry, looking at his feet. "The floor's icy."

"About to get more so," said Snape, indicating down the steps to the dungeons. Harry winced and shivered.

Snape waved his wand and Harry was suddenly suffused in warmth. His feet were still cold on the stone, but the warming charm kicked the chill from his bones.

"Thanks," said Harry, leaning against Snape properly for a moment. Snape was silent.

"It's this one," said Harry, pointing to a short dingy corridor with a door at the end. Snape lit his wand and headed through, pausing a moment to disable the security spells. The room was cold and grey, and Snape's things were piled in boxes in the centre. Snape sighed and began to open them, searching for his clothes; Harry stared at it all, surprisingly little, and as far as Harry could tell it was mostly books.

"There's more at Spinner's End," said Snape, and Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Did you leave it to anyone? All this stuff."

Snape paused.

"No," he said, then: "Albus. I never changed it afterwards. Who would I care to give it to?"

"Are you going to take it all with you?" said Harry.

"No," he said.

"What'll happen to it, then? I always wondered about that."

"The ministry will use it to line their pockets," said Snape, and pulled a face. "Perhaps I _should_ rewrite my will."

"Who would you get to be witnesses?" said Harry. "Posthumous wills must be pretty unusual."

Snape snorted.

"I could do it, of course," Harry mused.

"Beneficiaries can't be witnesses," said Snape, striding into the centre of the boxes, and Harry stared at the implication. He felt strangely warm. He watched Snape shuffling for a while, noticing all the little things he never had as a student – Snape's grace, his long fingers, his face when he was focused, the fact that his hair didn't seem that bad and he'd look _wrong_ with a small nose, and how making Snape lose control and kiss him was far more fun than any shouting match with thrown jars.

Snape pulled out a white shirt in triumph. He shot a glare at Harry, who surveyed the doorframe, blushing.

"You know," said Harry, sighing. "You could just... move all this back to your rooms," he said.

He chanced a glance at Snape, who had stripped again in record time and was buttoning black silk trousers. Harry eyed the waistband and the trail of hair sliding below it.

"No, Potter," he said, and Harry sighed.

"I'd help you," said Harry. "You know I would. And Minerva would cry."

"Before she killed me. I was savage to her Gryffindors."

"Of course you were," he said. "But at your service she said she remembered all the times you'd stepped in on the Carrows and stopped her being fired or worse, and wished she'd known to thank you."

Snape swallowed and looked away.

"Kingsley is set to be minister," said Harry. "You got on, didn't you? And I know it's not everything, but me and Ron and Hermione _are_ the saviours of the wizarding world. And Neville and Ginny were telling me stories – how you'd hit her, but now she thought about it Amycus Carrow was in the room with his wand out and she'd been pretty sure he was about to say a spell. And Neville said you weren't even that mean to him, compared to before, you just yelled and gave really, really dangerous detentions. That he always managed."

Snape's lips twitched.

"Possibly the only time Neville Longbottom has shone," he said. "I'm of the opinion it gave the irritating brat a much–needed spine, though I don't believe anyone would sanction my methods. I may even shock the world and apologise."

Harry grinned.

"You'd do that?" said Harry. "I mean, he'd defend you anyway, but that would mean... well, a lot. You really gave him hell."

Snape pulled another face.

"I said may," he said. He paused. "I'm not so proud as to be incapable of apologising."

Harry snorted.

"You're so proud it's untrue," said Harry.

"The word is dignity, you insolent brat."

"Yeah, so much _dignity_ you wouldn't even kiss me until you thought you could scare me off with it," he said.

Snape stiffened.

Harry sighed.

"Sorry. You're a repressed git, and I'm an obnoxious brat," he said quietly. "And I can be really bloody pigheaded too, but right now I'm not going to be. I'm going to kiss you, and then I'm going to beg you to stay, and then I'm going to offer you sexual favours if you do."

Snape was shocked into a laugh. Harry took the opportunity to lunge and pull Snape down to him. Snape acquiesced, to Harry's surprise, and they remained entwined for a moment before Snape pushed him away.

"All this effort just to get me to stay," said Snape. "I'm not going to."

"Please."

"Why do you want me?"

"Because – because I don't want you to be dead."

"I won't be, you idiot."

"Well, I'll never see you again anyway."

"Oh, were you planning on regular visits had I survived?"

"We've got too much to talk about. Especially now. Though if you want to pretend we don't I'll do it. Reluctantly. Look, I just want things to be put right. And that includes you getting that Order of Merlin you've always banged on about, finding a nice cozy cottage or something, doing research and scribbling in textbooks and generally being annoyingly cool, and inventing the next incredibly useful potion or other. And maybe getting laid. That's a new one in the general plan."

"Cool?" said Snape disbelievingly. He paused to pull on a shirt while Harry blushed.

"Er, well, the Prince... I mean, your book. He – you – I thought you were excellent. I was kind of a bit obsessed."

"Obsessed," said Snape flatly. "With my sixth year potions book."

"With the mystery boy behind it. I kind of imagined a studious sarcastic Ravenclaw-type. I trusted that book way too much." A pause; Harry bit his lip. "That is, I trust _you_ exactly the right amount, which is entirely."

"Despite good reason not to trust me within ten feet of you," muttered Snape, and Harry ignored it.

"But – that spell really threw me, you know."

Snape scowled.

"_Sectumsempra _was an exception to a rule of generally tame spells. There was no way you could have known. Apart from, of course, if you had considered asking someone about the Latin."

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"God, I nearly killed Malfoy," he said. "I'm so glad I didn't."

Snape raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Because then Narcissa would have had no reason to risk her life pretending I was dead," he explained. "God, you probably don't know anything about what happened, do you?"

"Narcissa helped you?"

Snape looked pleased. Harry wondered if they had been friends.

"She would have done anything for Draco. So would Lucius, much to my surprise."

"Death Eaters cannot love their children?" said Snape, though he did not seem annoyed.

"Well, he was never exactly warm and cuddly with Draco. Or at all."

"No," conceded Snape.

"So are you staying? Narcissa would probably help you too. I mean, you did kind of save Draco's arse. Though she'll have her own fight I suppose. I expect she'll want to see you, though."

"I expect you think you're clever," said Snape. "But you have it wrong. There really is no–one to tie me here."

"_I_ might bloody tie you here," said Harry.

"Would you truly stop me from doing what I want?"

Harry sighed.

"No. And if you want, I'll even keep it quiet. If that's really what you'd prefer. But I just wish I could take at least _one name from the _

"Potter, your manipulative tactics are as subtle as a brick," said Snape. Then he sighed. "Of course, I have not seen the list."

"Oh," said Harry, his throat closing. "Too many. Not that many students, so that's – good. I don't know which ones you'd be most interested in. The only one I knew well was Colin Creevey. And then – Tonks... Remus..." Harry felt his eyes sting. "They had a son, you know. He's an orphan now. Only, only he's not going to be like me. I'm his godfather, and he is going to be the most spoiled child in Britain. And Andromeda will look after him, and the Weasleys will all fuss, and he'll be alright." Harry swallowed.

"Other than that, F-Fred Weasley, and after him I don't remember names. Some other Order people you probably knew."

Snape nodded.

"George Weasley without his brother," said Snape softly. Then his lips twisted. "I owe apology to George, I fear, for being a poor shot."

Harry smiled.

"Could have been worse. And Fred and George made ear jokes for days..."

Harry's smile became choked.

"I – I can't believe they – God, Snape, now do you see why I want you back?"

"You hardly had the same esteem for me," said Snape.

"But you were a constant. You're Severus Snape, the terror of Hogwarts," he said. "You can't bloody _die. _You must be imprinted on the brains of every Hogwarts student there has ever been."

Snape snorted, and Harry grinned weakly. There was a silence, where Harry really wanted to lean on Snape again, but Harry wasn't sure he'd be allowed, not without the element of surprise.

"So you've kissed me," said Snape silkily. "You've begged. You've thrown in some emotional blackmail for free. What was next?"

"Sexual favours," said Harry, blushing. Snape looked irritated, as though he'd expected him to chicken out of saying it again.

"And I will, you know. You're really underestimating the Gryffindor 'brave to the point of stupidity' streak," said Harry, crossing his arms. Snape shook his head in disbelief.

"It is far too awkward to move this back," Snape offered, one last feeble attempt at a defense.

"I'll help," said Harry. "Not like I have any other pressing obligations." He grinned. "They alright to levitate?"

Harry could manage six boxes without making them wobble and fall out of the air. He let Snape lead, eight boxes circling the man gently, and trailed his own behind him. Snape led Harry surely to a dark dead end, tapped a brick, ducked his head into the appearing corridor, and brought them out a little way from the Potions classrooms. He led Harry deeper for a while, made a left, and let himself into doorway. The room beyond was icy and dim, and when Snape lit the lamps Harry shivered a little. A small sitting room, with emerald wallpaper and oak panelling, with empty bookshelves lining two walls. It looked soulless and empty, the coffee table overturned and the grate cold. Snape scowled and made a violent motion with his hands, sending books rapidly into their proper places. The flurry lasted a long time, Harry having to duck rather a lot, but eventually the shelves were crammed full again.

"_Incendio,_" muttered Harry at the grate. The room warmed a little. Harry noticed a bell–pull, and pulled it, only feeling a little guilty when he realised the hour.

An elf, nothing like Dobby but Harry's heart ached anyway, popped up beside him.

"Could you make up the bed in these quarters, and sort out the fires? And – um, could we have tea for two, please?"

The elf beamed and nodded, and Harry winced a little but sighed as the creature vanished.

"Granger would be appalled," said Snape, sitting in an armchair. Harry pulled the second one closer and righted the coffee table between them. Tea and biscuits appeared a second later.

"Do you want one?" said Harry awkwardly. Snape nodded and accepted it black and sugarless. He stared at it, sneered at something unknown, and added three sugar cubes. Harry grinned and added the same amount to his. Years of unsweetened tea made him want to rebel as much as possible, even though he'd developed a taste for plain black tea. God, the Dursleys. How much of his behaviour was due to them?

"Screw them," said Harry, swallowing against the unexpected lump in his throat, and took a biscuit.

"Quite," agreed Snape, raising an eyebrow, and took one too. "Now, Potter, you want to talk?"

Harry scowled.

"Uh, yes. About... the office."

"It was temporary insanity bordering on abuse, and I would like to take you up on the proposal that we never speak of it again," said Snape promptly.

"Well that's a bugger," said Harry, and for some reason swearing around a teacher was making him grin childishly. "Because I would like to talk about it. Not least to remind you I wasn't fighting back."

It was strange, but Snape's insistence on how wrong it was seemed to cement Harry's assurance that it was not. Snape _fancied_ him, and they'd writhed against each other naked on a desk, and Harry had never done anything quite so bizarre. But nor had he done anything quite so hot, and he'd already told Snape he'd pretty much forgiven him, and there was really nothing but their pride and Snape's guilt complex to keep them from doing it again. He just wished he wasn't blushing so much as he said it.

"You struggled," said Snape, guilt weighing down his words.

"You have a selective memory," said Harry. "I struggled a bit. Any wriggling afterwards was not _quite_ the same."

Snape smirked mirthlessly into his tea.

"I pushed you to your _knees_, boy. I assume that was entirely novel to you?"

Harry snorted.

"Oh, woe is me, you took my blowjob virginity. My giving blowjobs virginity," he corrected, and went scarlet again. Snape, to his surprise, pulled a face.

"I don't know if you noticed," Harry persevered, "But I... liked it. And this is all crazy and weird and at the moment, extremely awkward, but I _liked_ it. And I don't know how to feel yet about all this fancying me in school thing – I mean, was it just, you thought I was hot? That doesn't make any sense, I was all skinny – still am, but I was worse. And I mean, there were boys in Ravenclaw and such who were much prettier than me, and a couple of Slytherins too –"

"Noticing boys, were you? You are full of surprises," said Snape. He looked a little dark, a little tense, decidedly attractive. Harry couldn't figure out how he'd been missing it.

"And Dumbledore said you care about me. Enough for the Patronus thing –"

"Potter, if you are trying to torture me, it is working. Have whatever you want if you _leave it alone,_" he growled.

"Ah," said Harry. "Anything I want?"

"Anything you want that proves acceptable to me," said Snape, and Harry snorted.

"What an offer," he said. "But I think you might find what I want acceptable. Would you kiss me? Like you did before. Like – like you wanted me desperately. I don't think I've..."

Snape shook his head.

"No, Potter," he said. "You are a boy. A foolishly brave and stubborn boy with a natural talent at killing Dark Lords, but still a boy. I suggest you forget about me and return to your Weasley girl."

Harry looked into the fire. A log had appeared from nowhere, he noticed.

  


"I thought I loved Ginny," he said. "But – I never even thought to be guilty about her until after. I didn't even _think_ of her. It's like... she's a pleasant sort of dream. But you're _real_. More real than anything. And you've been so _important_, usually in a bad way, but still you seem to be there, in every memory I can think of. I've spent years of my life devoted to thinking about what a git you are."

Snape snorted.

"Sounds like a solid basis for an affair," he said darkly, and Harry scowled.

"Don't you get it? I think about you far more than I think about Ginny. I may have hated you, but you made me _feel, _more than she ever has. I daydreamed about her kisses to escape when things were bad, but I've got nothing to escape from now and I'm still never going to be able to stop thinking about kissing you."

"You don't even know what you're offering, boy. What do you want from me?"

"I'm not sure, yet," Harry confessed. "Just... more. Of something. I couldn't bear it if everything went back to how it was. Or worse, if we just became... polite."

"You're just new to passionate illicit shagging, Potter. You are mistaking lust for feeling. I assure you, some more time with your Weasley girl and this will become quite unremarkable. You will wonder what on earth made you think that rutting against a table with your greasy Potions Master could ever rival sex in a loving, trusting relationship."

"I trust you," said Harry, and sighed. "And I think you're missing part of the point. I don't think it's going anywhere with Ginny. Or any girl."

"Potter, you idiot, sex with a man does not mean you are gay, or even inclined."

"Oh yes, because I'd base my sexuality on just that," snapped Harry. "Christ, that's not even half of it. For a start, how many girls have I thought I fancied. Two? Cho and Ginny. Cho was beautiful and good at Quidditch and I liked her hair and she seemed to like me, but the whole thing was a total disaster and the most unerotic thing I have ever experienced. Ginny is beautiful too and she's loved me for ages and she spent two or three _years _trying to get my attention, and of course I started to notice when she tossed her hair or did something brave or smiled at me, because she is bright and sweet and likeable. But I've kissed her for hours without so much as a tenth of the feeling you did, and she's touched me but all it felt was nice. Compare that to the fact that I _did_ notice all the boys, how I can barely remember the names of the Ravenclaw girls despite the fact that Ron and Seamus used to joke that they were the luckiest house ever, how I've felt more passionately about pretty much everything other than girls. So unless I'm just not very sexual, and I now have evidence to the contrary, I don't. Like. Girls."

Harry swallowed. God, it was true, wasn't it? Why did arguing with Snape seem to always result in disturbing truths? Not that it was disturbing per se, but Ginny would be so upset and Ron would be angry he'd messed her about and Hermione would probably make badges and it was all going to be so _hard._

"Well, that settles it then," said Snape. "You were merely experiencing the first time with the gender you fancy. It was nothing to do with me, Potter, and I suggest you find a more wholesome candidate for your experimentation. I am convinced that it will be just as easy to find some Weasleyish boy to play with. Charlie Weasley would not object, I'm sure."

"Charlie?" said Harry, surprised. Then he scowled.

"You haven't listened to a word I've said," he snapped. "Why are you fighting me so bloody hard? Do you want me or not? Or are you done with me now, all you needed was a good time with me and that's that, problem solved. Should have known it was too good to be true."

"Too good to be true?" said Snape disbelievingly. "Are you even listening to what you're saying? I'm old enough to be your father, famously unattractive, with a history of death and cruelty behind me and, as far as I can tell from my behaviour tonight, hitherto unsuspected levels of perversion. You. Cannot. Want me."

"What the hell would you know about what I can want?" yelled Harry. "You're older, you're compelling, you understand what it's like to have faced Voldemort and you want me more than anyone has ever wanted me in my life. You're a total bastard, too, but it doesn't matter because I understand why you do it, I can see straight through it now like I never could before. You're scared of it! Of letting anyone close enough. It's sad, because I know too much about what made you that way, but I'm not giving up. And now I'm going to kiss you and you're going to shut up and kiss me back!"

And Harry drew himself up, insinuated a knee in between Snape's hip and the chair, and pushed him back by the shoulders. Snape sneered, a last defense, but Harry saw the glint of panic in his eyes as he leant down. Snape's lips were softer than Harry would have ever imagined, and he ran his tongue curiously over his bottom lip. Snape tasted of tea, still, and his mouth opened under Harry's tongue – Harry dipped inside, running his tongue along Snape's, trying to taste as much as he could. It was pleasant, warming; then Snape groaned, and moved his hands to Harry's face, and suddenly it was as fiery and frightening as it was before. Harry gasped, and tried to move closer – Snape pulled him forward until he was straddling the man, not letting Harry's mouth go for an instant. Harry ran his hands over Snape's shirted shoulders, wriggled a finger to the collar to open the buttons. Snape did not protest this time, simply pulled Harry's hips as close as they could go in this awkward position. Harry pulled Snape forward until their hips were flush, and despite their earlier exertions Harry felt a hot thrill at the hardness pressing against him. Snape moved his hips a little, as though he were trying not to, and the restraint nearly undid him, because of the thrill he knew it would give him when Snape finally broke. It was happening now, years of resolve melting into desperate need under Harry's touch, and Harry would have felt drunk on the power if he had not known that Snape would make him pay for losing control. Of course, this had its own thrill, and Harry moaned breathlessly as Snape ran a hand over his spine.

"Bed," said Harry firmly, and kissed Snape again to hold back protests. None came, so Harry stood up, not daring to break the kiss; Snape stood too, gathering Harry close, and stumbling, led Harry to the bedroom. Snape slammed him against the doorframe, and Harry knew he'd remembered his pride – then Snape pressed his hips to Harry's, torturing him with pressure and devouring his mouth. Harry pushed back, surprising Snape enough to push him onto the freshly made bed, then Snape tugged him down against him and Harry moaned and twitched his hips. Then Snape was rolling him over, and pulling his pyjamas away again, and biting hard at the soft skin of Harry's stomach. Harry groaned, cock brushing Snape's throat, and Snape stared up at him with dark eyes before trailing a wicked tongue down from Harry's navel. Harry's breath caught and he closed his eyes, willing Snape on, but all he received was a hot breath on the tip of him before Snape moved to bite Harry's thigh. Then that tongue was curling over Harry's balls, something Ginny had never done, and Harry arched up from the bed.

"God, yes," he moaned, and he fancied he could feel the curl of Snape's smirk against his thigh. Then there was hot wet pressure on the top of his cock, and a hand wrapping around him, and Harry's hips twitched involuntarily. A hand clamped onto his hip to steady him, and Harry was more than prepared to beg for more when Snape's tongue swirled teasingly over the head.

Then Snape was engulfing him, firm pressure, and Harry thought he might come straight away. He arched instead, and cried out – Snape stilled, tongue still moving, and started up a slow, torturous rhythm that skirted the edge of too perfect. Harry tried to move his hips, to move Snape faster, but Snape ignored him and trailed a hand to cup his balls.

"Oh, _please," _Harry whimpered, and Snape made a noise in his throat that Harry _felt _– he whimpered again, moving restlessly under Snape, who suddenly took mercy on him and sped up. Harry moaned, fire blooming in his stomach, curling and tightening as Snape moved a finger to his perineum and worked his throat – then he was coming, seeing stars as his back arched off the bed, fingers clenching in the sheets to channel his need to scream.

Snape swallowed. Harry was glad he'd been spared that.

It took Harry a moment to catch his breath, and when he had Snape was beside him on the bed, body distant but eyes dark.  


  


  
"That was..." he began, and Snape smirked.

"I know."

Harry smiled, a little shyly.

"What do you want?" he asked, and Snape pulled a face.

"Nothing," he said.

"Oh, please," said Harry. "You better not be doing any sort of noble thing. I _want_ to. And not just because of what you did to me. But I'm new to this, and you have to tell me what you _want_."

Snape's eyes flashed for a moment, and Harry thought he knew what Snape wanted. And while Harry had never before given it much thought beyond vague confusion, with the gleam in Snape's eyes he suddenly thought he might like to try it.

"Don't even think it, Potter," said Snape.

"Think what?" said Harry innocently, and grinned. "That you want to fuck me? Because you do, don't you?"

"No sane man with a boy like you in his bed wouldn't. That doesn't mean we're going to."

Harry wriggled closer. Snape really should know better – setting him a rule was the best way to ensure it was broken.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because you know absolutely nothing about it," said Snape. "Let alone have any experience."

"Who says I know nothing about it?" There'd been a book passed around in the dormitory, _A Witch and Wizard's Guide to Sex._ There'd been a same-sex section; the other boys had _stared_ at the pictures of the two women, but Harry had concentrated on reading. He'd always been painfully aware of learning everything he knew from Ron, who received plenty of misinformation from his brothers. Or at least, that's how he'd justified his disinterest back then.

Snape snorted. He was unconsciously trailing a finger down Harry's spine. It made Harry shiver.

"Alright, Potter, you know _very little_ about it. You can hardly have read much, otherwise you might have had your little revelation much earlier."

"Me? Pay attention to what's right in front of me? You've forgotten who I am again, Professor Snape."

"_Years_ of correcting you, Potter, and only _now_ do you think to call me Professor." Snape pulled a face. Harry kissed it away.

"Does it bother you, _Professor_?" teased Harry, looking up at him innocently.

"Immensely," said Snape, and pressed Harry down into the mattress for a devouring kiss. He ground his hips into Harry's side, and Harry wondered at his own ability to feel this way again after what he'd already done.

"You won't distract me," said Harry against Snape's lips as the man paused for breath. "You should have known saying no would only make me want it more." Not that he'd ever thought of it before with anything but vague confusion, but people did it, and the men in the book had been – enthusiastic. And the _look_ in Snape's eyes... God, that was more than enough.

"Yes, Potter, you wretch, I had noticed that about you," growled Snape, dark and breathless.

"First time it's worked in your favour?" teased Harry, and kissed Snape's throat. He wordlessly banished Snape's clothes again, thankfully sending them into a pile in the corner this time, and before Snape could protest he pressed the length of their bodies together and writhed.

"_Oh_," said Snape, eyes closing, and Harry grinned.

"Thinking about fucking me?" said Harry.

"_No,_" said Snape, but his eyes were still closed and his hips were moving rhythmically. Harry shifted so that Snape was between his legs; they ground together perfectly, and Harry moaned in contentment. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have Snape in him, but he couldn't; that just made him all the more keen to find out. And Harry had the feeling that Snape might shut him out again, after tonight – he didn't want to leave anything undone.

"You _are_ going to fuck me," said Harry matter-of-factly, and Snape opened his eyes to glare.

"If you want to," Harry added, in an attack of insecurity, and Snape laughed darkly.

"Harry Potter, offering me everything I've ever wanted. As if I could refuse you."

Harry smiled.

"It's the hero's reward," he said, and Snape closed his eyes on an emotion other than lust. Harry kissed him softly, and writhed a little.

"I surrender," murmured Snape, and Harry kissed him properly. Snape let him, slow and gentle, sliding his hands across Harry's sides and over the backs of his thighs. He pulled away a little, exploring Harry's chest with his long fingers, finding the places that made Harry writhe. Then he was moving to Harry's arse, and Harry realised he'd stopped breathing – he started again in a rush at the soft touch to his entrance. A wordless spell, and the finger was slick – it teased him a little, circling his hole, and Harry forced his eyes up to Snape's face. Snape was solemn, concentrating, staring at Harry with an intensity deeper than lust, and Harry could only stare back in awe as he felt the peculiar sensation of a finger sliding into him.

Snape swallowed and moved his finger, a steady in and out, and Harry writhed a bit against it. Snape added another gently. He was being slow and cautious, too cautious for Harry, who pushed back a little, wriggling. Snape's eyes glazed a little, and he crooked his fingers, seemingly searching for something until –

"Oh!" said Harry, warmth blooming from some point inside him, and Snape smirked. Harry wriggled properly now, trying to get Snape to do it again, trying to get Snape to fuck him properly, and Snape added some more slickness and a third finger. A slight burn, almost satisfying, and Harry took a calming breath in, accommodating. Snape was staring at him, tortured, muscles tensed in his restraint and cock straining towards Harry. Snape angled his fingers again and Harry's eyes fluttered closed, unable to keep them open despite the urge to gaze up at Snape.

"_Please_," he whispered, hips shifting restlessly, and Snape groaned.

"Potter – are you – God, you'd better be –" said Snape, and removed his fingers. Harry whimpered a little, and Snape muttered the lubricating spell a final time, wrapping a hand around his cock to cover it. A couple of pillows under Harry's hips, and then his legs were on Snape's shoulders and he was watching as Snape bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Harry shivered at the look, at the anticipation, at the feeling that just for one moment, he was the centre of Snape's universe. Then he realised, as the blunt tip of Snape's cock breached him, that Snape was the centre of his.

He pushed back against the fullness within him, not heeding the burn, and Snape steadied him.

"Wait," he ground out, whether to Harry or himself it was not clear; a pause, and Harry felt himself give a little, then Snape was moving again, inch by inch, eyes searching Harry's face for an indication of discomfort. Harry smiled, tentative and awed, and Snape closed his eyes as he finally slid home. He panted, then looked at Harry, questioning.

"It's fine," said Harry, and Snape snorted. The movement made him jerk a little and Harry gasped.

"We can do better than fine," said Snape, and wrapped a hand around Harry's cock as he began to move. Harry moaned, tilting his hips, trying to hit the spot, and Snape snapped his hips. Harry moaned and clenched around Snape, and Snape groaned too and did it again. Harry whimpered and threw his head back, and Snape began to thrust in earnest, first measured then more erratic, desperate, the hand on Harry's cock squeezing more from instinct than for pleasure. Harry felt the change in pace with a rush of pleasure, and almost without realising it he came, going rigid with pleasure as Snape's cock rubbed his prostate repeatedly. Snape moaned, hips jerking desperately, hands clutching at Harry's hips, and Harry felt warmth flood him as Snape shuddered and came.

They panted for a while, eyes closed, until Snape withdrew. Another clean-up spell, and Snape slumped beside him.

Harry wriggled under the duvet, pulling it out from under Snape, covering him up. Snape sighed and pulled it up to his chin, eyes still closed; Harry took the opportunity to wriggle closer. Snape sighed again.

"Potter," he began, voice slurred with exhaustion.

"Not now," said Harry. "Sleep."

Another sigh, then an arm came out around Harry's shoulders. Harry shuffled a little, getting comfortable, and drifted off. Yes, there'd be some problems tomorrow, but tonight he was going to sleep in a pair of warm arms.

He woke sprawled on his back, an arm slung across his bare stomach. He glanced at Snape – Severus, should it be? – and smiled. He was on his front, splayed as much as Harry, face in the pillow. Harry was surprised he could breathe.

As Harry watched, Snape shifted a little, palm coming into contact with his stomach. Harry giggled silently, and the hand froze. Cautiously, Snape's fingers moved over his skin, up along his ribs, across a nipple (then again when Harry twitched) up his neck, across his cheek, exploring his face, touching his lips. Harry smiled and curled his tongue around a finger, and only then did Snape lift his head to look at Harry.

"You seem to be real," said Snape.

"Last time I checked," said Harry, and bit Snape's finger. Snape drew it away.

"I'd hoped it was some hideous nightmare," said Snape, and Harry could tell he was teasing.

"Nope, sorry. You're stuck with me for real."

Snape sighed.

"Stuck with you. Surely, Potter, you have no intentions to carry this on?"

"Of course I do! Like I said, you're stuck with me. Unless you don't want to, of course..."

Snape's expression softened at Harry's insecurity.

"I would be mad not to want to. But I hope you don't have any – illusions as to what this is."

"I have no idea what this is," said Harry quietly, snuggling closer. "Apart from hot, and a bit wrong, and kind of overwhelming."

"I don't want you to think –" began Snape, and stopped. "This is not something exceptional. This is your first passionate experience, not an indication of romantic compatibility."

"So it wasn't exceptional for you, then?" said Harry, half-cocky and half-afraid.

"I didn't say that," said Snape. "Of course it was bloody exceptional. I've been a spy for most of my life and ugly for all of my life. I have never got anything I wanted, and if I did it was soon tainted. But for you, Potter, it is mere novelty, soon to wear off. You've had too little affection in your childhood, and now you're latching on to the first person with a crush."

"The first person with a crush was Ginny. I think I've learnt a little from my mistakes there. Anyway, you're right. I did have too little affection, and so did you. We both _need_ something like this. And we've both had so much rubbish, and we've both had to face Voldemort, and we've been inside each other's heads, and doesn't it seem sort of ideal? I _trust _you, and I admire you, and I've rapidly come to the conclusion that you're incredibly sexy. And you – you care about me, don't you?"

"What do you propose? A relationship? It won't last, Potter. You'll realise your folly eventually."

Harry sighed.

"Maybe. But at the moment, I want you, and I don't care whether it's all wrong. So you're stuck with me."

Snape trailed a hand over Harry's shoulder.

"I hurt you last night," he said. Harry craned his head and saw vivid fingerprint bruises where Snape had shook him.

"Oh yeah," said Harry, grinning. "I think I've got some on my hips too." He slid the duvet back and showed Snape the imprints where he had dug his nails in. "Oh look, and a bite mark." He pointed at his stomach. Harry was strangely unashamed at his nakedness, morning erection stood proud and twitching under Snape's gaze.

"And your throat, too," said Snape, fingers fluttering over Harry's neck. "Forgive me."

"They don't hurt now," said Harry. "And I didn't notice at the time. It's kind of hot."

Snape snorted.

"I was too rough. I am surprised you trust me at all."

Harry smiled. Snape's fingers were still tracing idly along his neck.

"You were gentle where it counted. Besides, I like them."

Snape bent his head to kiss Harry's neck, running a soothing tongue over the love-bite, fingers stroking the bruises on Harry's arms. Then he moved to kiss Harry's stomach, tongue meandering slightly from its course, trailing down from Harry's navel and withdrawing before being liberally applied to Harry's balls. Harry sighed contentedly, and Snape withdrew again, kissing the thumb marks he'd left on Harry's hips. Then he slid back up to Harry's face and kissed him, softly, slowly, sliding a hand down with a wandless lubrication spell, wrapping a slick hand over Harry's cock and pumping. Harry groaned, and Snape's mouth absorbed it, exploring Harry's mouth at the same pace as his slow strokes. The pleasure welled slowly this time, his body thrumming with sleepy pleasure as the sensation rocked over him in waves, finally breaking over him in a quiet rush, a spike of perfect pleasure. Harry moaned quietly as he came, stretching out against Snape, and did not open his eyes for a long time.

When he did, he snaked a hand out to touch Snape, but Snape caught his wrist.

"We have to get up, Potter," said Snape. "Or at least, you do. You will be missed. And you have no clothes here."

Harry snorted.

"Hmm, that will be interesting. It's alright though, I'll just run up to the dorm then I'll try and find McGonagall and tell her about last night. I won't tell her you're in the castle, don't worry, but I'm sure it'll be alright. I'll be back before lunch. Don't you dare go anywhere before then." he paused. "Please."

Snape sighed.

"Against my better judgement," he sighed. "I'll stay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Harry sat up.

"What's the time? Most people have gone home but there still might be people about."

"Half six," said Snape. "Hope no-one in your dorm is an early riser."

Harry yawned.

"I'm bloody knackered," he said. "Alright, see you soon."

Snape caught him as he scrabbled at the foot of the bed for his pyjama bottoms.

"Semi-dressed is one thing, but semi-dressed and covered in love bites?" said Snape, and put his wand to Harry's shoulders and neck. Harry let him erase the bite on his stomach too, but stopped him at the bruises on his hips.

"Leave them," he said. "They'll be out of sight anyway, and I want to keep them."

Snape ran a thumb over them, and nodded. He looked quietly satisfied. Harry pulled his pyjamas up quickly, leant down to kiss Snape, and ran before he could be tempted to stay any longer.

He got as far as the floor for Gryffindor tower before he barrelled headlong into Professor McGonagall.

"Good Lord, Potter!" she cried, as Harry scrambled up. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

Then she stared at his chest in what seemed to be horror. Harry squirmed, wishing he was better dressed, but pressed on.

"Oh, Professor, it's a really long story, but I have something to tell you. Er, show you, too. If I just run and get dressed could I meet you in your office?"

McGonagall pulled her eyes up from Harry's chest, looking mortified. Harry crossed his arms over himself awkwardly. Surely she had seen a semi-dressed student before?

"Er, yes, Potter, clothes would definitely be a plan," she said, more high-pitched than usual. "I'll, I'll see you there, shall I, Mr Potter?"

"Um, okay," he said, shivering, and McGonagall walked swiftly away. Harry looked down at himself, anxious, and realised what had transfixed McGonagall so. His pyjamas were not at the level they were at when he had left Snape's rooms; they hung low on his hips, just below two livid, obvious and very unmistakable thumb prints.

Harry laughed, and headed up to Gryffindor tower. This was not going to be easy, not at all, but Harry was decided. He'd spent all this time working for a better future – now he knew just what that included. Him, and Snape, and sex, and someone to hold him. He'd have the hero's reward.

 


End file.
